


The Laws of Succession

by Fox_Katelia



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU where the High Lords don't have their heads up their asses, F/F, F/M, Feyre kicks ass, Girl Power, High LadyTM, M/M, much - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Katelia/pseuds/Fox_Katelia
Summary: Months after Amarantha’s death, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, disappears, leaving his court ripped apart and no heir apparent. His disappearance (or death, as many speculate) leaves questions unanswered, the least of which who will now rule the Night Court.And then the power chooses Feyre, shackling her very soul to the Court she fears most.As she navigates the dazzling, mysterious politics of Night, more and more questions arise.What does this mean for her engagement to Tamlin? Is Rhysand really dead? Who is so dead-set on razing the Court of Night? And why did the magic choose her?Only the Laws of Succession can tell.“Welcome to the Night Court, High Lady,” was all the Morrigan said, flanked by the two winged males.I looked past her, to the glittering expanse of sea and starlight, the untouched city swathed in shadows and menace and beauty.Morrigan’s face was hard, no surprise since she’d just lost her cousin. But deep within her eyes…there was something, a glimmer of feeling.Something in me inherentlyknewher, knew this city, this court, even that she-monster Amren.Mine,it said. A whisper.All of this. It’s all mine.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A FEW THINGS TO KNOW:  
> This is an AU based off the premise that the High Lords got their heads out of their asses (sort of) post-UTM, and actually rallied to defeat Hybern. Tamlin is less of a Tool (thought not much) and actually allowed Feyre to fight in the war. Also, she was less affected by the PTSD, and had a few more positive associations with Rhysand.  
> The Mortal Queens never got involved, they just stayed over on their side of the continent and let Hybern do his thing, the Cauldron was never found, Tamlin never made his idiotic bargain with the King, Ianthe is still over in Valhallan, Jurian's still 'dead', and Nesta and Elain are human and living in the mortal realm.  
> I'm rating this T for now, but there miiiight be a few Chapter 55's in our future, so I'll be marking those chapters NFSW, and, if you're not into that sort of thing, I will provide a summary of all the important bits at the beginning of the next chapter so you don't miss anything.  
> This fic will LOOSELY follow the plotline of ACOMAF, then branch off into it's own thing. I'm expecting it to be around seventy or so chapters (yikes) and probably between the length of ACOTAR and ACOMAF. Not the greatest updater, but I'll try to get stuff out as regularly as possible.  
> No promises though.  
> Enjoy!  
> xx  
> Foxy

* * *

_Rhysand_

The wind knew.

It whispered among the leaves, sending her name to me on a soft breeze, wrapping around my heart and fracturing my soul.

 _Feyre,_ it called. _Feyre._

I clenched my wineglass tightly, watching the stars flare above Velaris. Seven months. Seven months since Amarantha had held this continent in her sway. Four since the Courts had rallied and overthrown Hybern.

Three and a half since I’d last seen Feyre.

My mate.

Just as quickly as that thought formed I shut it down.

She wasn’t my anything.

She was Tamlin’s, and Prythian’s, hell, even Lucien’s, but never mine.

I took another gulp of alcohol, feeling a pleasant numbness sweep through me, then went to take another and realized the glass was entirely empty.

Shit.

Drinking was the only thing that kept my mind busy these days. Everything else was a blur. Even Morrigan. Even Velaris.

I let out a deep sigh, wings rustling behind me as I hauled my ass up from the chair. My vision swam a bit and I grabbed onto the table for support.

Mother. Mor was going to kill me for this. She’d long since lost her patience with my moping. She was expecting me at the House; there was a meeting between all the High Lords in a week, and we had to decide who was going, and who was staying behind to guard Velaris.

But…

Four months since the war had interrupted Feyre and Tamlin’s fairy tale wedding, interrupted the haze of fear and panic I’d felt from her that day. Lately, my nightmares were less about Amarantha and more about Feyre. The fear, rage and pain had blurred together so much, I wasn’t sure what was her and what was mine.

The lines had long since blurred anyway.

I still hadn’t heard whether they’d reinstated their engagement. Every time I casually asked Az about the Spring Court, my brother just told me there was no new news.

It rankled me more than it should have.

I drained the last drops from my glass and straightened, pasting on the arrogant, at ease mask my family expected me to wear.

No hint of the broken, cracking heart beneath.

A High Lord through and through.

Utterly oblivious to what was coming.

 


	2. Chapter One

_Feyre_

The paint was dripping on the floor like blood.

The strokes were broad and dark, a shadowy form, stars and nightmares and dreams caressing in a midnight dance.

But it was the little hints of red along the edges that made it so alluring.

I withdrew my brush, studying it, watching those galaxies swirl and expand, coming to drown me in their grasp, the citrus and sea scent filling my nostrils, like a calling, a pull towards home—

“Feyre?”

I blinked.

Lucien was staring at me, his scar glimmering in the early dawn light. He looked half asleep.

“Are you okay?” The words were almost barked, but I didn’t take offense. He hated mornings even more than I did.

I shifted uncomfortably, and said wearily, “Yes, sorry. It’s just…” I shrugged. “Early.” I let out a sigh. “Really, really early.” I dropped my forehead against the cool glass of the coach, my breath fogging its surface, trying to shake off the remnants of my daydream. The fourth time in two days I’d had it.

I had yet to decide if it was a dream or a nightmare.

Lucien grunted in agreement. “I don’t get why Tam can’t just winnow us all in later,” he muttered, looking similarly irritated.

“The Veda Court has a no-winnowing boundary, Lucien, as you well know,” said High Lord answered his Emissary’s rhetorical question, his muscled form filling the previously empty open doorway. The look he sent me made my toes curl and my cheeks heat.

Lucien groaned. “Oh for the love of the Mother—it’s too early to watch you two make eyes at each other. And I’m not proposing we break a time-honored tradition, Tam, just that maybe you could get us a little closer, so we don’t have to get up at _three in the fucking morning._ ”

My High Lord swung into the carriage, sitting down next to me. Our quarters were pleasantly cramped, and I could feel his warmth through the green dress I was wearing. Alis had found something more appropriate for the meeting and packed it in my bags. I would change when we got there.

“No sense getting your clothes all wrinkled before you have to present yourself,” she’d sniffed.

He merely said to Lucien, “I didn’t realize you were such a child.” Then he smiled at me. “You look beautiful,” he said, tugging gently on one of my curls.

My lips twitched and I flushed. “So…do you,” I managed, then wanted to hit myself.

Lucien hid a smirk, but Tamlin just chuckled and pressed a kiss to my hand. He thumped the roof the coach twice, and the doors clicked close by themselves, and we began our bumpy trek down the road.

I pressed my face to the glass, watching the manor disappear into the grey darkness. I wouldn’t see it again for another two weeks.

Already it felt too long, to be away from the comforting familiarity of the golden hallways and the rose bedecked gardens. The painting studio I still couldn’t touch.

 _This will be good,_ I told myself as Lucien and Tam began discussing some trade disagreement with the outlying villages of Spring. _A little time away will help. Maybe being stuck inside is what’s making my head so loopy._

Even if the alternative to the long afternoons trapped inside sun dusted galleries and long hallways was a meeting with all seven High Lords.

Beron. Kallias. Thesan. Helion Spell-Cleaver. Tarquin. Tamlin.

_…Rhysand._

Something twinged at that last name, maybe fear, maybe excitement, maybe something else that I didn’t dare name.

I hadn’t seen the arrogant High Lord since the end of the war, since I’d struck a killing blow I still wasn’t sure how I’d managed to do.  He and his Court had been strangely silent for the last few weeks.

I hadn’t even known he had a Court, though I suppose I should have expected it.

I’d only gotten a few glimpses of them, mostly of a beautiful blonde woman Lucien told me was his cousin, Morrigan, and the two winged males who served him in some official capacity. And that tiny, deadly looking female who’d come into the Spring camps one night to speak with Tam, and who’d had all the sentries and warriors muttering prayers to the Cauldron.

She’d looked wickedly pleased about that.

Tamlin’s hand brushed my own, and I tucked away sigh. I would get through this meeting. Then I’d go back to the manor and live out the rest of my infinitely long existence, and the engagement to Tamlin that we still hadn’t formally reinstated since our almost-wedding had been interrupted by an attack by Hybern.

The rest would come to me eventually.

Even this shifting darkness writhing inside of me.

* * *

I had mixed feelings about my dress.

It was gorgeous, I supposed, the perfect fit for a Lady of a Court of Prythian.

It was just so…imposing.

And not exactly fit to the flowers and dusky colors of Spring.

I straightened the neckline, my fingers brushing against the silky fabric.

A lesser faerie whose name I didn’t know fixed my train, and the gold glinted in the light.

I looked at myself in the mirror we’d set up in the small wooded clearing we were using as a dressing room before entering the Middle.

The golden dress was long and sweeping, elegant and eye-catching, with a neckline that dipped a little too far to be considered appropriate, sheer sleeves and a sparkling bodice clinging to my chest and waist before pooling around my legs.

My hair was wound up around my head, a flowered crown woven through the golden locks.

I looked…

“Ridiculous.”

I half turned, seeing Lucien standing at the edge of the wood. The faerie bowed and backed away. I watched her go slightly wistfully. I missed Alis, but Tam had insisted she stay at home.

Now alone with my friend I turned back to the mirror, studying myself uncomfortably. “Stop it. It’s not that bad.”

The Emissary snorted, coming up behind me. “I don’t know how Alis got Tam to approve this dress.” He looked distastefully at the dipping neckline and clinging fabric. “It looks like erotic Night Court fashion mixed with flashy Day color.” He fingered the shining embroidery at my shoulder. “She’s going to have hell to pay when he sees you in this.”

I didn’t want to, but I did agree with Lucien. Alis and Tamlin’s ideas of ‘suitable’ were clearly very different.

But…

I examined myself again. If I squinted I could almost imagine someone else in my place, someone strong and confident, someone who could fit this dress without being overpowered by it.

As it was, I just looked skinny and underfed and not powerful in the least, despite it being more than a year since I’d hunted for survival in a frozen, desolate wood.

Nothing like the Savior and Cursebreaker people expected me to be.

I hated that title.

Hated it just like this meeting, and the war, and the endless fear and nightmares that had come with it.

But I needed to do what I could to ensure Tamlin’s court—my court, _our_ court—stayed strong.

So I put a smile on my carefully painted face, gestured for Lucien to lead the way, and held my head high, letting no one see even a hint of the heart beneath the visage, the heart that was slowly fracturing into pieces.

* * *

The Middle was utterly silent.

It made the tension all the more inescapable.

We’d switched out of the carriage as soon as we’d passed through one of the ‘doors’ leading to the rest of Prythian, instead mounting horses, though I was doubtful of my ability to ride very well wearing this dress.

Our route passed around the very edges, but it didn’t stop me from gripping my reins tightly as I reminded myself to breathe, not too succumb to a panic attack, to keep my head, even as memories of Under The Mountain, of those two faeries blood on my hands filled my head—

My horse jolted as I narrowly avoided hitting a tree.

I jerked my reins back to avoid collision. Lucien, who’d ‘accidentally’ rammed into me, rode on without a backwards look, but I got the message.

Tamlin sent a concerned look my way, but I just shook my head silently, clicking my heels and continuing on through the dappled, still wood.

I appreciated his help, even if I’d never say so.

Not when I knew how much it upset Tamlin when we mentioned these things.

We were surrounded by a small army of sentries, but still I could see the tension in Tamlin’s shoulders, in his clenched jaw and short sentences.

Lucien was also affected.

It was the shadow. Amarantha’s final revenge.

Even in death, we were not free of her.

* * *

Tamlin’s appraisal of my attire rated a narrow eyed glare, then a quick shift into his High Lord mask.

Lucien offered me a slight eye roll and I returned the gesture with a scowl, before turning back to the imposing building before us.

I hadn’t even known about the Veda Court until this meeting. A structure pre-dating the founding of Prythian. It encroached on no Court territories or power struggles, and we could all make the journey.

The perfect place for a meeting with all seven High Lords to discuss the ending of the war and the steps we would have to take now that it was done.

But it was still so…imposing.

It was built into a sheer cliff face, the white stone fashioned into hewn pillars and a large, gaping gateway. We were among the last to arrive.

Tamlin’s hand found my own and gave it a squeeze, even as his gaze remained like granite.

That little touch gave me a grounding point to step forward.

We entered.

* * *

There is a large difference between meeting in a war tent in the middle of a battleground, with the dead and dying all around you as you ponder the fate of the world, and meeting in a civilized hall with official entourages and all manner of political jargon.

I almost preferred the battlefield.

The High Lords and their consorts were gathered in the hall when we entered, and a quick glance confirmed that we were the second to last to arrive.

I saw no sign of Rhysand or the Night Court, and something in me eased a bit at that. I wondered if he would come.

Kallias was the first to notice us, a beautiful silver haired woman standing next to him. His wife, I assumed.

Tamlin had released a bit of his glamour, coating himself in a golden, wild glow, and I could see some of the beast shining through his eyes.

Even though I loved him and knew he would never hurt me, it filled me with trepidation to see so much power.

“High Lord Tamlin,” Kallias said, his voice carrying throughout the shining room carved into the top of the mountain. We’d taken an outside staircase to get to the top of the cliff, to this room. None of us were so willing to go underground anytime soon.

Chatter halted, and my skin prickled as Beron’s eyes lingered on me, something hungry and tainted sliding through his eyes. None of the High Lord’s had been happy to know that my immortality had also taken a portion of their gifts. I almost wanted to tell them they could have them back. This much power wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t need it. Nor did I want it.

Tamlin nodded back curtly. “Kallias.” He inclined his head to the other High Fae gathered.

Lucien and the sentries behind me bowed, and even though etiquette demanded that I do the same…I somehow couldn’t bring myself to. I’d bowed and scraped enough before Amarantha.

Tamlin’s lips tightened a bit, but no one made any remark on my faux pass.

Lucien’s face had gone paler and more severe as he saw his estranged brothers lurking in the corners, but he made no comment.

Chairs were arranged in the center of the room, the dusky sunlight streaming down on them. Beron’s Lady and High Lord Thesan were already seated.

Helion Spell-Cleaver came up to us, his dark face wonderfully handsome and beautiful in a way that made even my cheeks heat.

“High Lord Tamlin.” He inclined his head to my lover, then straightened, a little smirk on his lips and looked at me. He bowed more deeply this time, though there was still something…mocking about it.

“Cursebreaker,” he murmured, eyes dancing.

Now everyone’s eyes were on me. The Prince and Princess of Summer watched me like hawks stalking a mouse, and the Lady of Winter didn’t remove her gaze from mine, though the look was more curious than hostile.

It still made Tam bristle and clutch my arm tighter.

“Rhysand hasn’t arrived yet,” Tarquin said, breaking the silence. “I suggest we start without him.”

It was an effort to keep my face blank at that, but…we were all still rebuilding our respective Courts. We needed to get this over with.

I sat in a chair on the right of Tamlin, and Lucien held court on my other side. Our entourage stood behind us. I couldn’t help but notice that I was surrounded on all sides. No doubt Tamlin’s plan, to protect me should the meeting go sour.

Thesan began, “It’s been four months since the end of the war.” He looked around at all of us. “This meeting is long overdue.” He began talking about the trade routes with Dawn, and how to better implement them.

Tamlin didn’t concern me with matters of state, so most of the places and terms were unfamiliar.

My High Lord interjected a few times, and the debates continued on about property lines, and rebuilding efforts, and…

I was watching the entourages, seeing how they interacted with one another, so Beron was perfectly within my line of sight, and I saw the meaningful glance he sent to Helion and Tarquin.

Tamlin did too.

His grip on my arm tightened, and Lucien’s fingers twitched towards his sword hilt when the High Lord of Autumn said casually, “There is another matter to discuss.”

The room went silent, but there was no confusion or curiosity on the others faces. This had been planned, discussed before we’d arrived.

A soft snarl ripped free from Tamlin, and his grip on my arm became bruising.

Helion took over. “Indeed.” He glanced at me. “There is the matter of Feyre Cursebreaker.”

The light around Tamlin flared and he barked, “There is no matter to discuss. She belongs to the Spring Court—she has nothing to do with any of you.”

I could see his hackles raising.

Kallias said coolly, “On the contrary, Tamlin, she does. She has a piece of each of our powers. That makes her ours as well.”

I could only shake my head, terror immobilizing me, at that thought. I’d just gotten free of Amarantha, and the war, now these High Lords all sought to claim me—

Tarquin’s dark face was a little uncomfortable, but he said apologetically, “This is not meant as an offense, Tamlin—”

A growl.

Lucien unsheathed his sword with a whine, putting his body in front of mine.

Beron cut in with a disgusted snarl, his sons flanking around him. “Call off your dog, Tamlin. This has nothing to do with you.”

His pale eyes met mine.

“We’re here to decide what to do with Feyre Cursebreaker—and if she should be allowed to live.”


	3. Chapter Two

The reaction was instantaneous.

Tamlin let out a roar, shifting into his beast form with a flash of golden light. Lucien’s sword was drawn and raised to protect me, a shield of power snapping into place around us.

There had been a mandatory truce during the meeting, but everyone seemed to forget it as my High Lord lunged for Beron, and flames shot out as he defended himself.

I was pressed against my chair, heart pounding, eyes wide. And at all this chaos, this power…

Something stirred inside me, a rising, thrashing darkness, begging to be unleashed.

 _Kill them,_  it hissed.  _Kill them all for trying to own you._

Lost in a trance, I began to stand from my seat, that writhing thing slipping out—

A boom echoed from beyond the hall, lost among the sound of pounding swords against shields.

The chaos stilled. Tamlin froze, shifting half into his High Fae form out of pure surprise as the doors creaked open by themselves.

The entourages of all the High Lords shifted into defensive positions, their swords unsheathed and shields locked into place.

You would have to be a fool to attack us here, with all the most powerful beings in Prythian gathered in one place.

But…

That rush of power faded, retreating and leaving me suddenly cold as the doors swung open and Morrigan, Third in command to the High Lord of the Night Court, stepped in.

* * *

The one thing that I could see in common between Rhysand and his cousin was their beauty. Their eyes, hair and faces were completely different, yet you could tell they shared blood.

The hall was utterly silent as she entered, her blood-red dress sweeping the polished floors. Her stunning face was cold, and she was flanked by a smirking winged male with dark hair and eyes. The tattoos and scars winding around his arms and peeking out from underneath his leathers only contributed to his warrior-image.

Morrigan took in the chaos with a raised brow, then turned to the High Lords.

“Well, I see that this meeting was going splendidly.”

Tamlin snarled.

Tarquin stepped up, his Captain keeping pace at his side, sword out. “Lady Morrigan. We had thought the Night Court would not show.”

She offered him an icy smile. “You thought wrong.” Her eyes landed on me, still pressed against my chair, Lucien standing protectively in front of me, and something flared in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

The warrior just crossed his arms and smirked at everyone.

Kallias said, “We are glad, then. We need all the Courts here to begin this new age.”

Tamlin’s jaw clenched and his power flared at the allusion to my impending trial or death.

“Where is Rhysand, so we may begin?” he asked.

Morrigan stiffened so slightly, I thought I might be the only one who caught it, but she said calmly, “He was detained. I will be taking his place in this meeting.”

As she swept forward, she looked so much like a queen none of the High Lords dared refute her.

All but one.

“We need Rhysand here,” Tamlin said.

I gaped, and the other High Fae looked similarly shocked.

Lucien shifted. “Tam…”

Tamlin glared. “I will not continue this meeting without him. We need  _all_  the High Lords here in order to decide on a course of action.”

Oh.  _Oh._  Besides Tamlin, Rhys was the only High Lord who seemed to care about me. Together, they might change the others minds.

It was still bizarre.

But Morrigan, her face like ice, snapped, “He’s not here,  _High Lord._  I will take his place.”

Her path took her directly in front of me, and she slowed as she glanced between Lucien, sword still drawn and acting as a physical shield, and me, sitting rigidly in my seat, Tamlin’s hand a bruising grip on my arm. An arm covered in a silken glove, hiding the tattooed marks.

Her eyes flickered, almost like a grimace, but then her face smoothed over and she went on.

She settled in the chair that had been left open for Rhysand, between Kallias’s Lady, who beamed at her, and Helion, who gave her a provocative smirk.

That winged warrior settled in beside her, and I felt…like I knew him. Like something called to me.

“Well, where is Rhysand, if he cannot be bothered to join us for this meeting?” Tarquin asked, still the calmest out of everyone.

“Busy.” It was clear that was the most we’d be getting out of her.

Morrigan offered us all a cool smile and propped her chin up on her hand, her resemblance to her cousin uncanny. “So, carry on.” She waved her hand.

None of the High Lords seemed to appreciate being told what to do, except for the Lady of Winter, who looked rather delighted.

Beron, whose eyes had been on the Night Court delegation with something like burning hatred and rage shining out of him, refocused on Tam and I with difficulty.

“As I was saying,” he said with a serpentine smile, slipping into his mask. “Feyre Cursebreaker was able to bring down Hybern—and who knows if she will be content with that power alone. What if her next move is to declare herself High Queen of all Prythian? We already had one—I am not alone in sharing our aversion to another. And Tamlin—will you sit beside her, our High King?” he sneered. “I think not.”

Tamlin was practically trembling with rage and restraint, but he kept it on a tight hold. The Night Court’s arrival had been a wake-up call to the consequences he could have tested by attacking the other High Lords. “I have no desire to seek dominion over Prythian,” he hissed. “And my wife is  _none_  of your concern.”

“Is it wife or wife-to-be? _”_  Morrigan cut in casually, smirking. She examined her nails and peered up at us with a charming expression. “It’s ever so hard to keep track.”

Her warrior huffed a laugh.

My blood boiled, and I curled my fingers into fists. I saw the family resemblance now. Insufferable arrogance ran deep within that line. I wondered if those two had come for any other purpose other than stirring up trouble.

Tamlin’s eyes glowed, but it was Lucien who snarled, “Watch your tongue.”

The warrior growled, wings flaring out and the deep red stones engraved in his armor bursting with light and a deep, clanging echo of power.

Lucien had the good sense to look slightly unnerved, but Tamlin said, “Call off your dog, Morrigan.”

“The ‘dog’ has a name, as you well know,” Morrigan said sweetly. “Cassian. Try using it. It’s not that hard. Just three syllables. Say it with me.  _Cass_ -ee- _an.”_

I think Tamlin stopped breathing then, such was his disbelief, and even the other High Lords looked torn between hilarity and outrage at her mockery.

But enough was enough, and I didn’t want to carry Tamlin home in a body bag. No matter how slight or feminine she looked, I had a feeling Morrigan of the Night Court could match my High Lord in wits, power and strength.

I stood up, and everyone’s eyes flew to me.

My heart pounded and I felt sweaty and ill and unsure, but I swallowed all those emotions and looked at them all.

“I know you think I’m a threat to your world,” I began, my voice far too loud in the echoing space, “but…I love Prythian. I love its people,” I glanced at Tamlin, whose face was stone. That didn’t really help, so I quickly looked away. “I love the traditions. And maybe you’d like to forget it, maybe  _I_ would like to forget it, but I was U-Under the Mountain too,” I stumbled over those words, old panic and fear overtaking me. I breathed in deep and reminded myself to keep going. “I saw what her tyranny did to your— _our_  home,” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say her name, “and I would not do that to you. And I will be the first to admit that I’m not even sure I know how. I will not challenge you, or your order, but…I think that after everything we’ve all been through, one more death on our hands would be too much to bear.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling too hot, too tight at all the faces looking up at me, blank, stone cold masks.

My head swam, but…that warrior from the Night Court—Cassian—his face was more open. Softer. His customary smirk still graced his features, but his eyes shone.

Somehow, despite not even knowing him, I  _knew_  that look, knew that when he got it, it was because of something important, something he cherished.

Pride.

It was so unsettling I had to look away, unnerved by both his approval and the familiarity I felt with him.

This knowing.

Tarquin shifted and said quietly, “We have not forgotten, Cursebreaker, what you did for us.” He glanced around at the gathered High Fae. “I suggest we all take a small break and get our bearings. We…must remember that we are a broken, healing people. We must show strength, humility, and forgiveness. To everyone.”

It ended.

* * *

I escaped the hall as quickly as I could manage, blending into the chaos.

Tamlin had let go of my arm sometime during my impromptu speech, and I knew he would have something to say about it, but I wasn’t in the mood to be chewed out, so I thought avoiding him was the best course of action.

He would have killed me for the risk I was taking, going out alone, but enough of that smoldering power lingered in my veins to rise to the surface and defend. Whether I could actually control it once it burst out was another matter.

Of course, I didn’t count on the fact that I knew absolutely  _nothing_  about my surroundings, and I had no map or helpful guide to get me back to the council chambers.

So I ended up somewhere far away, in a spired tower looking out over all of Prythian.

The sun warmed my face, my uncomfortable dress and the gloves that constrained my movement.

Dead.

The word clanged through me like a lightning strike.

Five of the most powerful High Lords in existence wanted me dead.

I did not think even Tamlin could protect me from them.

And Rhysand…

My fingers brushed my right arm, the silk caressing the pad of my thumb.

A wild card.

He’d always been a wild card.

Mindlessly, almost as though I was simply clipping a flower, I pulled off my glove, baring the skin where smooth, swirling Night Court marks used to lay.

Now there was only ruin.

Smears and broken traces of ink ran across my too-pale skin, looking like I’d made a mess of my painting and left it to dry in the sun.

Tamlin didn’t like looking at my tattoo, at the memory of my foolish bargain with the Lord of Night, so he didn’t notice when the marks shifted over night a week ago, turning into  _this._

I hadn’t dared ask for word of him, to see what this meant. Rhysand’s attention was never a good thing, even when he wore a mask of kindness.

Or at least one of a non-enemy.

* * *

_It was over._

_It was finally over._

_The King of Hybern was dead._

_I sat in the meadows of the Day Court, watching the sun set, my heart, my head, my mind blank._

_I’d killed again._

_Five deaths on my hands._

_Two nameless faeries, slaughtered for a demon queen._

_A Hybern sentry guarding the tent. A Commander. A King._

_And the blood—_

_Mine._

_My hands were clean. Too clean. The tattoo from Rhysand was stark in the light, a reminder of the darkness shrouding my festering soul. He’d never called it in, not in the three months after Under the Mountain, not in the two the war raged. And now…_

_“When you’re thinking too hard you get this wonderful wrinkle in your forehead, Feyre darling. Perhaps you should be a philosopher.”_

_My spine automatically straightened, a half-hearted scowl forming on my face as I looked up at Rhys, my back pressed into a tree trunk._

_“I’m not in the mood, Rhysand.” My voice was flat._

_He gave me a little half smile, sauntering over, his hands in his pockets and his wings nowhere in sight._

_“Is that any way to greet the man who saved your life?” he crooned._

_Now my glare was real. But I still had no retort. He had saved my life, in that tent with Hybern. If it weren’t for him I’d be dead._

_Rhysand smirked smugly. “I thought so.”_

_He leaned against the tree opposite me, violet eyes gleaming. “What? No poisonous retort? No ‘Fuck off, Rhysand’, or ‘Go to hell’ or even my timeless favorite, ‘Prick’?”_

_“Do you want me to offer you another week of my life? A month? A year? How about my servitude for all eternity. That should please you.”_

_His smile faded. “That’s not what I—”_

_“Do you want me to thank you?” I ranted on, suddenly filled with rage, at this frustrating, dark male, at the war, at everything._ “Thank you _, oh glorious High Lord of the Night Court, for stooping to save lowly me—”_

 _“Enough.” Rhys’s voice was sharp. He stepped forward, and his voice turned gentler. “You’ve given_ enough.”

_I bit my lip, suddenly feeling small and sad and…forgotten._

_“What do you want, Rhys?” I asked again, my exhaustion weighing me down._

_An emotion passed over the High Lord’s face, one I couldn’t identify, and he said quietly, “I want you to remember.” He took a step back. “I want you to let go.”_

_Then, with a last, searching look, no sign of his customary smirk on his face, he turned again walked away._

_The next day, I received word that he and his court had left during the night._

_I couldn’t help but feel…like I meant to do something. Respond in some way._

_Now he was gone, I was home, to Tam and Lucien and Alis and Spring, and it was too late._

_Too late._

* * *

“Are you alright?”

I let out a yelp, jerking away from the railing and hitting my head against the low hanging ceiling.

Eyes watering and plethora of curses bubbling up, I squinted at my would-be assailant—and all thought drained right out of my head.

Morrigan smiled amusedly, stepping forward and raising her eyebrows.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” she asked.

I found my voice. “Yes, it is.” It was the sort of view—stretching green forests, high, shining sun, blue skies and birds and life—that would have once made me want to paint, to live, to dream.

“An interesting meeting, wasn’t it?” she went on, tracing the railing with a manicured hand. She gave me a wry smile. “Those busybodies like to argue amongst themselves all the time. After a few centuries you’ll get used to it.”

I flinched, at the allusion to my newfound immortality, at the fact that I  _would_  be alive in a few centuries. And far beyond that.

But…

“Not to offend you or anything,” I said carefully, tucking my arms against my sides, “but what exactly are you doing here?”

Morrigan looked at me, really looked at me, and her smile faded, that chipper personality sinking into gloom like a wave upon the sand. Her eyes dipped down, landing on the running streaks of ink tattooed into my arm, the ones I hadn’t remembered to cover.

But there was no surprise on her face, nothing but acceptance. Her eyes rose to meet mine.

“Because it’s not over,” she said quietly. “We both know it—we can feel it. And if those idiots in there don’t know it too soon, then we’re all damned.” Her soft fingers grazed my stained hand and I held very, very still. She gave me a bitter smile. “It’s only just begun.”

* * *

Morrigan disappeared soon after that, drifting away with barely a word, and something about her presence shook me so much that I didn’t even look where I was walking—and by some stroke of luck, I managed to make it back to the council room.

The other High Lords were gathered, and Tamlin’s face was seething as I slipped into my seat beside his, and I knew that I would be getting the chewing out of a lifetime when we were alone.

I made sure to avoid his gaze.

Once we were all gathered Thesan said, “Now, we should—”

It happened so suddenly. One second the High Lord of Dawn was speaking, we were all sitting quietly and listening, and the next chaos exploded.

The windows surrounding us shattered, glass spraying in like water, and a tremor shook the council chamber.

I was knocked backwards onto the floor with the force of the blast, and I hit my head hard on the stone.

Smarting and swimming, I dazedly looked up at the carnage.

I had to be imagining things. I’d hit my head too hard—

A great, writhing darkness had entered through the windows, wrapping around chairs and squeezing them into rubble. Lights flared and swords clanged as they fought back—

This was not Rhysand’s darkness, nor was it of the Night Court legions who’d laid waste to the battlefields. This was solid and tangible and thrumming with power.

A roar split the air from the opposite side of the room and my heart seized.

_Tamlin._

I stumbled to my feet, the darkness slashing past me and slicing deep into my shoulder.

I bit down on my lip to contain my scream.

It burned. Oh fuck, it  _burned._  Like fire and acid and pure, raw, grief—

A spear of darkness went hurtling straight for me and I couldn’t do anything to stop it—

A body intercepted the strike, taking the hit with a muffled gasp, before red light flared and the darkness recoiled, before speeding onto someone else.

Cassian hunched over before me, his chest in bloody ribbons and I felt like vomiting at the sight.

Taken it. He’d  _taken_  that hit for me—

And he looked confused, as he looked up at me. Confused and panicked, as though he didn’t fully know why he’d intercepted it either.

But there was no time for talking or demanding explanations as Lucien suddenly appeared at my side, eye whirring, as he tugged me away from the destruction, trying to—

A voice boomed out, male and female, young and old.

 _This is a warning,_  it hissed. Despite the clangor, I knew we could all hear it.  _This will come again—to your courts, your families, your homes. The Lord of Night is taken by one of your own._

“What?” Helion barked.

The darkness swirled, no longer attacking as bloodied, limping High Fae halted, panting and wide-eyed.

_You know of what I speak, Truth-bringer. The darkness has chosen a new queen now. Protect her—or watch it all fall to pieces._

The darkness turned to smoke, fleeing through the broken windows and beyond, leaving only silence in its wake.

Cassian slowly, painfully hauled himself to his feet, and Morrigan was there in an instant, supporting his broad form. Her dress was ripped and she had a cut above her eyebrow.

I didn’t know how the Night Court warrior was still conscious, my arm was burning so badly I could barely stand, barely think.

Tamlin was beside me now, panting and back in his human form.

Quickly, I scanned him. Alright, he was alright—

“What was that?” the Lady of Winter breathed, her voice a solitary sound in the gasping silence.

Helion’s hands glowed amidst the carnage, scanning the wards. Spell-Cleaver—that was his other title.

His face was grim and cold when he’d finished. “I have no idea. But,” he focused on Morrigan and Cassian. “I think you do. What did it mean when it said ‘the Lord of Night has been taken’? Is that why Rhysand isn’t here?”

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. For once, the answer was written right there on her face.

Tarquin’s Captain (Varian, I remembered hazily) stepped forward. “And who took him? Who could be powerful enough to…?”

He didn’t finish. We all knew.

Rhysand was the most powerful of the High Lords. Who could have subdued him?

But for the first time Morrigan’s face showed true emotion. Grief. It was buried deep beneath ice and masks and darkness, but I saw it.

And I saw the bright, brutal anger lining her words, her very soul when she slowly straightened, every inch a queen, and said, her voice a low growl, “Why don’t you tell me,  _High Lords?_  Or perhaps explain why my cousin was kidnapped last week, and his would-be assassins left only a note and a lingering trace of all your powers  _combined.”_  Her eyes were slits and her voice was a low hiss. “So tell me, Lords of Prythian, what you were thinking when you declared war on the Night Court.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who enjoyed the sight of Mor fucking with Tamlin?  
> Anybody?  
> Ah, I guess it's just me...  
> A BIT OF BAD NEWS:  
> I'm currently SWAMPED with end of the year homework, (in fact, swamped doesn't even cover it. I'm drowning. DROWNING) which means that updates will be much more spaced out and sporadic for the next couple of weeks. I get off on July 6th, so after that I should be back to a more regular/quicker schedule.  
> Please accept my humblest apologies.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> xx  
> Foxy


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all:  
> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPLOAD!!!!!!!!!!  
> I said a few weeks and it took me like two and a half months. :( :( :( :( :( :( :(  
> You’ve all been so lovely with your well wishes and kind comments, so thank you so much for that, and I guess those crossed fingers really helped, because I’M DONE WITH SCHOOL!!!!!!  
> Yessss, no more Math!  
> School was a major pain in my ass, but thankfully it's all over now, and to make up for it I have an _extra_ long chapter for you today. It’s a bit of a filler, but don’t worry, it’s _all_ important!  
>  We're going to be getting into more plot-ish things in future chapters, and drama is, as always, abound.  
> ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> xx  
> Foxy

War.

The word clanged through me, and it looked like it had thrown the others as well.

Beron’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “How _dare_ you—” he hissed.

Cassian, blood still pouring from his chest, somehow managed to lift his head and snarl. He looked like he was about to pass out, and Morrigan put her hand on his shoulder, blood staining her slender fingers as she glared at the gathered High Fae.

“I _dare,_ Beron, because my cousin is missing, and _you_ played a part in it,” she responded coldly. “And do not think the Night Court will not retaliate. That is all I came here to say. Whether or not you have employed this new…power to help, or if this is a new threat, is irrelevant. You have all signed your death warrants.”

“But we haven’t.” The Lady of Winter stepped forward, her face earnest and her palms spread in front of her. “Mor, I can say without a single doubt that Winter played no part in this. You must believe me.”

_Mor._ It seemed so…affectionate, so familiar. And yet utterly right.

Kallias stepped forward, his hand grazing his mate’s lower back. “Indeed. We have had…our differences.” Pain flickered across his gaze. “And I do not claim to like Rhysand, but he is a High Lord of Prythian. We would not do away with him without cause.”

She shook her head. “I cannot afford to believe you,” she whispered. She drew Cassian close and raised her head. “You have now been declared enemies of Night.” I think her lips trembled a bit as she looked at the Lady of Winter. “Enter our territory, and you will face our wrath.” Her face turned to ice. “This is your only warning.”

She grasped Cassian’s arm with her own and disappeared.

No ripple. No sound. Just gone.

Gone.

* * *

It was no surprise that the meeting dispersed quickly after that.

Everyone was so preoccupied with the news from the Night Court— _missing, war, war, war, war—_ that Tamlin took advantage of the distraction and hustled me and the rest of the Spring Court out before the rest of the High Lords remember their promise to kill me.

He didn’t bother with the retinue through the forests and the carriages—he grabbed me and Lucien with a bruising grip and winnowed us immediately back to Spring, leaving the sentries to make their own way back.

We hurtled through space and time, the ragged edges of the world brushing my arms and face and the bloodstained hemline of my dress.

I could feel it whispering to me, a soundless dance in the dark, and a pull, toward a frozen land of sea and mountains and endless, ruthless nigh—

We landed on the sun-drenched gravel driveway of the manor with a thud.

I stumbled, and Lucien steadied me, but his eyes were on Tamlin.

Tamlin, who was standing a few feet from us, his back turned, his shoulders trembling with rage.

I took a shaky step forward, ignoring Lucien’s warning hiss, and said tentatively, “Tam…”

The snarl that sliced from him was inhuman in its rage, and I flinched as he started off down the driveway—not towards the house, but towards the wild forests surrounding us, where a human girl had once ensnared a Suriel.

Mid-run he shifted, hands turning to claws and hair and teeth turning to fur and horns and fangs, until a shadowy beast raced along the horizon, disappearing into the evening woods.

Moments later, a beast’s roar split the land.

* * *

Dinner was a silent affair.

Lucien had silently escorted me into the house, where Alis waited with a pinched look on her face, then disappeared as I made my way to my room, took off that gods-cursed dress, and sank into a hot bath.

Alis didn’t ask me about the meeting, but Lucien must have briefed her at some point, because she didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the now clotted wound on my shoulder, merely sent for a healer and had them bathe and bandage it.

Even with a numbing tonic, it…burned.

I’d seen the healer’s look as she examined it. My Fae healing was supposed to take care of minor injuries like this within hours. But it stayed open, stubbornly bleeding through the bandages, and staining the shoulder of my forest green dress the color of rust.

Tamlin did not return during the stiff, tense silence of dinner in the dining hall, where I made mostly stilted conversation with Lucien, too preoccupied to worry about politeness. I would have felt bad for being so antisocial if only he didn’t seem particularly in the mood to chat either.

After twenty minutes of playing with my food, taking a few bites to maintain appearances and tasting only ashes, I excused myself, claiming a headache.

Lucien didn’t seem to hear me; he just stared into the distance, his metallic eye utterly still.

I didn’t particularly want to imagine what he was thinking about.

Alis was lurking the hallway as I headed toward my room—not _our_ room. Tamlin and I had always had separate bedchambers. I supposed I would never know if that would have changed had we…married—but I ignored her, carefully opening the wooden door.

I’d already shattered, bended or broken everything of value on this floor of the manor in the weeks and months following Under the Mountain.

Whatever phantom power I’d accessed to wield against the King during the war hadn’t given me any better control. I supposed only time could give me that.

Time. Now I had eternity of it.

I stepped into the darkened room, heading blindly for the bureau, and reaching for the pins curling my hair into delicate loops.

My shoulder burned with the movement and I bit back a cry.

Fuck.

What in hell was _in_ that creature of darkness?

Alis’s silent footsteps followed me in, and I felt her standing behind me, watching, as I stood in front of the mirror, my figure a dark, shadowy smudge in the reflective glass.

I took in the sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes, the pretty green dress that was too loose in the waist and shoulders, that fell around my skeleton like a burial shroud.

A phantom, I thought. Perhaps that was what I’d become.

Nothing but a ghost in cobwebs and crowns.

Not Savior, not Cursebreaker, nothing like the awed whispers that followed me.

Not the golden, pretty wife Tamlin expected— _needed_ —me to be.

Maybe I never had been.

Maybe I was always meant to be a wolf, starving and deadly in the winter woods, snarling and biting at anyone who came close.

A weapon.

I closed my eyes, pushing back the waves of memory.

Red hair, red blood, red marble—

Whispers in the dark, thrashing and cold silence, the one presence I craved the most so far out of reach, beyond space and time and mountain ranges—

_Missing missing missing missing missing_

No, I couldn't think about that, couldn't think about  _him—_

“Just spit it out, Alis,” I said, my eyes still closed.

The fey shifted, and I sighed. My head pounded.

“You’ve never had a problem voicing your concerns or opinions to me before,” I reminded her. “So go on. I know you’re dying to say something, and I’d prefer to get some sleep sometime this century.”

I almost regretted the harsh words, but before I could apologize she spoke.

“There has not been a war in these lands for many centuries.”

I twisted to look at her, more out of surprise than anything else. Her tree-bark skin was darkened with shadow, her eyes little pinpricks of deeper blackness, like pools of ink or oil.

“Hybern—”

Alis shook her head, her mouth pressed together. “Hybern was terrible, but it never truly came to a full scale war. Not as this would.” She swallowed. “The Night Court…in the first war, their legions were something to be feared.”

I knew. I’d seen them in the camps, seen the rows of Darkbringers and winged males. But never on the battlefield.

Only in that last, final battle when I struck that killing blow…

“We fought just a few months ago side-by-side,” I told her, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. “This could not be worse.”

I couldn’t see her face, but Alis didn’t seem convinced, even as she bowed and murmured, “Of course, lady. I will leave you to rest.”

She turned and walked away, me staring after her.

At the door, she paused, her gaze latching on mine through the shadows.

“The Night has a foot in the shadow world,” she said, her voice low. “They are different than us. Darker, fiercer—more powerful and dangerous. And their allies of monsters and men…”

She didn’t finish her thought, just shook her head, and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I stood staring after her for many more long moments, before turning back to the bed.

I didn’t turn on the lights once as I stripped and slid into a too-large nightgown.

The silk was slippery against my skin, the sheets cool as I lay in bed, my heart pounding, straining for the sound of footsteps in the hall, the echo of breath…

Nothing.

And I lay there, wide awake, dreams and nightmares, past and present, snaring around me in a thorny nest.

Tamlin didn’t come to me once.

* * *

The halls of Under the Mountain were in ruins.

I made my way along the bare tunnel that led from Spring, hand trailing against the rough stone, feeling only numb purpose, a tug telling me to keep going.

I was wearing a simple white dress that fell to my feet. The color made me want to cringe.

Pure, it was too pure, too good—

_Not me._

As I neared the main hall I tried to slow, tried to push down the balking terror that rose up—

My body continued to drift, into that marble room.

Faceless people turned to look at me, their features blending together into a nameless terror.

I continued on, even as I was silently screaming inside.

Gone, these people were _gone_. She was gone, she couldn’t hurt me, the ceiling wouldn’t collapse onto me, sealing me into the earth—

Against my will, I looked up at the dais, where a red haired queen held court—

But it was not Amarantha who sat there.

It was the roiling, deep, evil darkness of the meeting with the High Lords, not quite a physical form, but a presence nonetheless. In the depths, I thought I caught a glimpse of golden hair and light eyes.

And kneeling on the floor below it…

I knew those broad shoulders, the slender hands and dark hair, the wings trailing from his back like a fallen angel’s.

I came to a convulsive halt, a stretching, tearing call reaching out—

“Rhysand.”

My voice echoed in the room, far louder than it should have been.

The High Lord of the Night Court didn’t look up, his head bowed, hair falling over his forehead and obscuring his face.

I stumbled forward, tripping over the long white dress I wore, but someone—some _thing_ —else had notice my call.

The darkness stopped its swirling, turning toward me with something that looked like…surprise.

_Cursebreaker,_ it hissed. The voice sounded clearer than it had in the meeting hall. Younger, and feminine. Almost familiar. The darkness drifted toward me like tendrils of fog.

_Of course you would come,_ it whispered. _The eighth of seven…this calls to your dreams._

It came closer. He _calls to you._

I knew it—she—was talking about Rhysand, but I couldn’t bring myself to do more than shake my head, terror suffusing inside me—

A low laugh. _No matter. It will be done soon enough._

The dark twined around my waist, drawing me closer to the dais, to the fallen warrior kneeling on the floor.

_Look,_ it whispered in my ear, as gentle as a lover’s caress, _the strongest High Lord in history was unable to defeat me. I know your dreams, your nightmares, your secret wishes and fears, the brokenness inside your soul, the tie to the north and the darkness…_

And as the darkness rose to swallow me up, embracing me like a thousand knives of fire and the cold embrace of death…

_You will fail, Queen among mortals. You will fall, just as your heart has._

I sank into blackness.

* * *

I retched into the toilet, clutching the cool porcelain with burning hands.

My throat felt raw and rasping, as though I’d been screaming for hours, even though no one had come to investigate any noise, so I knew I must have been silent.

My skin was too hot, my soul too big for my body as I panted, curling my fingers into fists that drew blood from my palms, trying to rid myself of the deep claws of my nightmares.

Even now, the remnants were fading, leaving only the darkness and the pain, the whispers of death, and something—something _precious—_ remaining there, something I _needed_ with my whole being, the only thing tying me to this earth—

I vomited again.

When I was done I flushed with trembling fingers and sank into the floor, pressing my hot cheek to the cool bathroom tiles, letting my heart steady, trying to sort reality from myth.

I glanced up at the cracked open window, at the slice of night sky visible.

Even that couldn’t bring me my usual comfort. They just felt…empty.

And as I lay there, sinking into a daze, I could have sworn that living, twining shadows lurked in the corners of the room, watching me with nameless curiosity.

* * *

The next few weeks passed with little excitement.

Tamlin had returned the next morning with apologies, bearing a bouquet of roses, which I’d accepted, pasting a smile on my face.

I didn’t tell him how much the red made me want to hurl, or how the thorns cut into my palms, leaving scarlet crescents that I could barely bear to look at.

Lucien was gone most days, though Tamlin made an effort to be at my side every available second, showering me with affection and smiles, seemingly trying to drown out all the turmoil going on beyond our borders.

But even when we were laying in fields of wildflowers, even when I was in his arms as he made love to me…there was something missing.

Tamlin’s efforts would have worked though, would have let me sink into a faux-content haze, had I not seen the worried looks passed between servants, the whispers and secrets kept from me.

Even by Tamlin.

I’d been walking through the empty study a few days after we’d returned, studiously ignoring the paintings on the walls, when I head a familiar voice hissing from the half-open door to the hallway:

“You have to warn her, Tam. This isn’t just about us anymore—” Lucien’s voice.

And the ‘her’ in question was presumably me.

I crept closer, ignoring the tingling feeling of guilt gnawing at my stomach.

Tamlin’s returning answer was stone cold. “Do not push me on this, Lucien. She is a valuable ally—and she will make the other High Lords think twice about testing us.”

Lucien snorted and the venom in his voice was clear. “Only because she’s a poisonous bi—”

A snarl rattled the crystal chandelier above my head.

“That is enough. You will be polite to her when she arrives. And you will not, under any circumstances, use your friendship to manipulate Feyre into seeing her as a villain. She needs more female friends, and this is the perfect match for her. Is that clear?”

There was silence, which Tamlin seemed to take as acquiescence.

“Good. We’ve fortified the borders for now—no one can harm her. Those pitiful attacks they’ve sent will not be enough.” Another low growl, and fear raced through my veins like acid. “ _No one_ will _harm her._ I would see this entire court destroyed before a single hand was lain on Feyre.”

A heavy sigh. “Yes, High Lord,” Lucien murmured. “Just be wary. A force that can kidnap a Faerie as powerful as Rhysand is something to be feared even by us.”

I didn’t hear Tamlin’s response—though I doubted there was any beyond a chilling look—but their footsteps faded as they walked away down the hall.

I’d pressed myself against the wall, my heart pounding and vision swimming.

Attacks. The other High Lords had sent attacks after the Spring Court. After me.

Attacks Tamlin clearly didn’t want me to know about.

Why?

I took a shuddering breath and slowly slid down to the floor, my too-thin knees knocking together under the pinching gauze of my dress.

And a ‘she’ who was coming to visit us.

Sudden terror caused my limbs to lock up.

The last mysterious ‘she’ mentioned in this house had been Amarantha. But Tamlin didn’t speak of this female with fear or hate. He spoke with deference, with respect. Maybe even affection. I wondered who she was to him. Perhaps an ex-lover.

I wondered if maybe I should care about that, feel some jealousy over this no doubt beautiful, charming, _good_ female who’d perhaps once held Tamlin’s heart.

But all I felt was numbness.

I did not rise from that floor for a very long time.

* * *

The silence was stifling me.

Tam was lounging in his chair at the head of the table, his face brooding, and Lucien had been steadfastly avoiding my eyes since I arrived.

And I couldn’t care less.

Since that meeting with the High Lords…I’d been drowning in silence. Different from the shattered rage after Amarantha, during the war. This was endless. A freefall with no end in sight.

And I’d let it swallow me whole.

I pushed the food around on my plate, a growing headache pressing at my temples.

The ticking of the clock was the only sound.

Maybe I’d excuse myself early, head up to my room. But not to bed. I’d been purposefully keeping myself awake these past few nights, not daring to close my eyes lest another one of those dream come—dreams swathed in shadow and menace and the fallen form of the High Lord of Night.

“An…old friend of mine will be coming to stay with us soon,” Tamlin said suddenly, startling me out of my hazy thoughts.

Lucien’s face went cold.

I tried to muster up a look of interest. I was pretty sure I failed. “Oh?”

Tamlin’s face was halfway between tense and relaxed. “Yes. Her name is Ianthe. She is a High Priestess—one of the Twelve who govern the land alongside the High Lords. She will be occupying the old temple at the edge of the grounds for the foreseeable future, helping out with certain affairs.”

Like keeping me out of the other High Lords hands.

No doubt this was the mysterious female Lucien and Tamlin had been arguing about earlier.

I dared a glance at the Emissary and saw that he was determinedly staring at his plate, both his metal and russet eyes still.

Why wasn’t he pushing, if he was so against this woman’s presence here?

Misinterpreting the look, Tamlin assured me, “She won’t disrupt out daily routine. Mostly she’ll remain cloistered in her temple. But…I would hope that you two could become friends. You need more female companionship.”

I frowned. “I have Alis—” I started.

Tamlin pressed his lips together. “Of course you do. And Alis is a loyal and steadfast servant.”

I hear the unsaid words. _But not a suitable friend for someone like you._

I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood, but kept the words in with difficulty.

Sensing the tension, Lucien smoothly changed the subject—though the next topic wasn’t much better.

“The repairs in the village are going well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Though they would appreciate some assistance with rebuilding their borders. During our…absence the forest encroached much of the town, and a clan of _naga_ settled in.”

“Send some sentries to help clear the border, and I’ll ride out tomorrow to deal with the _naga_ ,” Tamlin said.

Lucien accepted this with a shallow dip of his chin and seemed prepared to move onto another subject, but they would be leaving tomorrow and _doing_ things and I would remain here and—

_And—_

“Take me with you.”

Eating halted down at the other end of the table, and Tamlin didn’t even bother setting down his wine as he said simply, “No.”

Lucien winced.

I tightened my fists—clad, as always, in pale silk gloves—in my napkin and said tersely, “The villagers need all the help they can get, and I’m just another set of able hands that can assist them. This is the least you could give them. Give _me._ ”

_Now_ he set down his drink, his face stone and brows narrowing. “They have all the help they need, Feyre. You’d only be a nuisance—a distraction.”

I ignored the way my chest caved at the words, the way a little bit more of my heart, my _self_ chipped away. I pushed, “But it would be _helping_ them—”

“I said _no.”_ Tamlin slammed his hands into the table, claws sliding out and gouging deep.

I flinched back in my chair, and Lucien shifted, his mismatched eyes flickering back and forth between us.

Tam growled, “No, Feyre. It’s too dangerous, and I cannot _—will not—_ let you be compromised like that again.”

Because there had been a time when he could not protect me, when he was vulnerable, and he could not bear to be like that again.

I knew this—understood it.

But I could not stop the white hot anger from razing my senses, the rage coming from a place so deep inside me I feared there was only black, festering darkness remaining.

“So I am never to see this light of day again?” I asked, something dark and wicked and _alive_ singing in my blood. This—this was the only semblance of emotion I could feel. I embraced it—reveled in it. “I am to be your _prisoner?”_ I practically spat that last word, spat it with months’ worth of fear and anger and hatred.

Tamlin’s eyes glowed, and the wood groaned beneath his claws—

Lucien barked a curse. _“Shit—”_

He didn’t even have time to throw up a shield as the High Lords’ power blasted through the room.

I cried out as my chair toppled over, instinct taking over—

The windows shattered.

The furniture splintered.

And that dining room table we’d had so many meals at…

It exploded into dust and glass and wood.

* * *

My ears were ringing.

A distant line of blood slid down the wall nearest me, impaled with shards of broken glass.

Not my blood.

I wasn’t harmed. Not a single scratch of hair out of place.

Even with the ravaged dining room around me, flickering in the distant, too-bright light of torches and candles.

Lucien was thrown against the wall, a shard of broken glass sticking out of his arm, his wide-eyed face bloody and cut up. But conscious.

Alive.

I tried to gather the breath to speak, the strength in my legs to stand, to help him…

Tamlin was standing where the head of the table used to be, his head bowed and hands still curled into claws.

My arms were wrapped around myself, my knees curled up underneath me, the tattered remains of my dress spread around like a morbid flower. My shoulder had started to bleed again, fire racing down my arm. But even that was strangely numb. Detached.

As I watched Tamlin raised his head, sucking in a great breath as though emerging from underwater—and his eyes landed on me,

There was devastation on his face. And pain. And fear. And grief.

Tamlin took a step toward me, his mouth opening—

He halted, seeming to take in the shattered glass, the blood on the floor.

“Feyre,” he rasped.

Lucien pulled the shard of glass out with a grunt, his immortal healing already closing the wound.

And around me…nothing.

“Feyre, please,” Tam breathed.

Nothing but clear marble floors, ruined pink skirts, and a wall of solid, unflickering night, shielding me from the ruin.

And it was coming from me, the lines of shadow spreading from underneath me like a depthless ink stain, leeching away all color in the world.

I knew exactly who _this_ gift had come from.

Tamlin tried to take another step—tried, and recoiled as he hit that wall, separating us.

_My_ wall.

Through Rhysand’s power.

Even if I’d never displayed…any of this during the war.

The power of night to stop a High Lord.

I’d thought only another High Lord could have done that.

Clearly I was wrong.

“Feyre,” Tamlin groaned a third time, pushing a hand against what indeed looked like an invisible, curved wall of flickering shadow and air. _“Please. Please.”_

Those words, the desperation in them, cracked something in me, and like a tidal wave sweeping back in reverse, the wall collapsed, shadow sucking back into me, wrapping around my heart until it was coated and shielded by darkness, like a glittering wall of adamant.

Tamlin’s hand shot through the divide, and he stumbled a step, once again fully human.

He dropped to his knees, taking my face in his hands. _“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”_

I couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop seeing the blood, the night, the ruin. A terrible blend of doubt and death.

Tamlin slid his hands down to my waist, wrapped himself around me.

“I’ll try,” he whispered. “I’ll try to be better, I promise. But I love you, Feyre—and I will _always_ strive to protect you. Just…let me _try.”_

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but let him hold me, let the familiar, hard warmth of him try to wash away everything.

But over his shoulder I saw Lucien laying slumped against the walls, his face pale, the shard of bloody glass on the ground beside him, the wound on his arm still barely healed.

And on the ruined white marble I could have sworn I saw traces of shadow still imprinted there.

I opened my mouth, still unsure if I could really even _speak_ , but then a chirping hello cut through my efforts.

Tamlin tensed, a snarl building and claws sliding out at a perceived threat even as I twisted to look—

But it was not some monster, not some denizen or assassin from another court.

The female standing in the doorway was stunning. Almost overbearingly so. Her golden curls layered over the hood of her blue-grey robe, teal eyes and a smile like molten honey peeking out. There was a line of midnight blue tattoos stamped over her brow in the phases of the moon.

I knew who she was even before Tamlin shoved off me and breathed, _“Ianthe.”_

I remained on the floor, watching as that almost _too_ beautiful priestess took in the carnage, the blood. Lucien laying against the wall.

Tamlin paused a few feet away, his arms hanging unsurely at his sides, and he said, “Thank you for coming.” He followed her gaze. “Apologies. We had a little…accident.”

Both sets of eyes went to me, and I nearly flinched at the weight of those gazes, the knowing looks that _I_ had caused this…

But some inner strength—one that didn’t entirely feel like my own—made me lift my chin. Straighten my spine. Harden my eyes until I met their looks, daring them to comment on the wreckage, the loss of control and power I didn’t dare think about.

The High Priestess Ianthe lowered her teal gaze, bowed to me. “Feyre Cursebreaker—Savior of Prythian,” she murmured huskily. “What an honor. I hope we can become close friends in the future.”

So she would be staying awhile.

The words sounded like honey, like a sweet-scented summer day. Tamlin seemed to think so, with his approving smile, smoothing away any anger, fear or rage from before.

I thought the words sounded like a lie.

* * *

The knock on my bedroom door took me by surprise.

Ianthe hadn’t said much more to me before drawing Tamlin and Lucien away on claims of urgent business.

They’d gone, Tam with a last, gentle, apologetic kiss on my mouth.

I tried to hide how I flinched away from it.

Alis had swept in seconds later, sharp eyes missing nothing, yet remaining silent as she simply herded me up to my room, into a hot bath, disposed of my old, torn clothes, and left me sitting at the vanity before quietly retreating.

Now the manor was silent with the velvety blackness of night. Silent, but for the echo of the knock on my door.

I froze, the light of my single candle illuminating my knotted hands, my vacant gaze at the cold, lonely and yet strangely lovely stars.

_Not him,_ I found myself praying even as I made my way to the door, hands unnervingly steady beneath my gloves. _Please don’t be him. I don’t know if I can face you right now—_

The door swung open, and Lucien paused, his muscled, scarred hand raised in the air mid-knock.

I blinked.

“Good, you’re awake,” he said. He shifted. “Ah…good.”

I remained silent.

He cleared his throat. “Can I…come in?”

I hesitated, then— “Of course.”

I stepped aside, letting him pass. His shoulder brushed mine as he did, and I nearly flinched. He was ice cold.

Lucien stopped in the middle of the room and surveyed it, taking in the rumpled bed covers, the cracked open window and the flickering, nearly burnt out candle. I’d need to light a new one soon. I couldn’t bear to be in the dark anymore.

I did so, fumbling with the matches on the vanity just to have something to do with my hands.

_You could create this on your own,_ a hidden inner voice reminded me. _If you dared, you could do anything. You could remember how it felt, to spark and ravage and burn—_

I shut down that voice as firmly as I could and said, my back to him, “I see that you’re all healed.” My own voice, thankfully, came out steady.

It was the first mention of what had occurred downstairs.

I heard Lucien’s breath catch, my Fae hearing noting the slight disturbance. I winced, putting a hand to my ear. Strange—so strange, these new feelings and sounds. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it.

But he said, “Yes. Faeries are fast healers.” A pause. “Ianthe and Tamlin are…discussing some matters of state downstairs. They’ll be busy for a while”

Matters I no doubt wasn’t allowed to hear about.

I heard the unspoken message. _Tamlin won't be coming to see you tonight._

Rather than look at that too closely, I turned, bracing my hands against the wood of the vanity, studying the Autumn colored Faerie frankly. “Why do you hate Ianthe?”

Lucien’s face tightened almost imperceptibly. “I don’t hate her.”

I snorted. “Well, that’s convincing.”

Even though it probably made me a wretched, nosy person, when he didn’t respond, I prodded, “You glare every time her name is mentioned, when she arrived earlier you couldn’t even _look_ at her—”

“Well maybe that had something to do with the fact that you were lying on the ground in a gods-damned cocoon of night sent straight from the Cauldron and Tamlin was on the verge of destroying the whole manor,” he snapped, fists clenching and eyes flaring with gold.

_Like flames,_ a distant part of me thought.

A part that had once been rife with color and sound and light.

But now…

I didn’t say anything, and Lucien took a deep breath, running a hand distractedly through his hair.

“Ianthe’s family,” he said carefully, “had…ties to Hybern, during the First War.”

Because now there was a second, a Great War.

“Her father caught wind of…her attack.” He didn’t say her name. “And rather than stay and fight, he took Ianthe, their mother and her little sisters away to the Faerie city of Vallahan, on the continent.”

“If she was a child—”

Lucien shook his head, the light flickering over the tan planes of his face, the brutal scar. “She wasn’t. Ianthe is young for our kind—just over four centuries. But she is cunning. And when the High Queen’s reign began…she chose to flee rather than remain with her homeland.”

And for Lucien, who had suffered and fought so much for family and a place to call home…that would have been unforgivable.

He looked lost in his thoughts now, no doubt in some long buried memories I’d dragged up, but I dared to ask, “Were you two good friends?”

Lucien started, as though emerging from a deep sleep, then registered the question and his brow furrowed. “She…was Tamlin’s friend, at first. In the beginning, in the years after the First War and the wall. But…when I came here…she was kind to me. She listened. She helped me—” He seemed to choke on the words.

I dug my fingers into the wood, my shoulder burning with the effort. Alis’s new bandages were going to be ruined very soon at this rate. “What happened?”

A dangerous line. We were dancing a dangerous line here, between Tamlin’s orders and painful, shattering pasts that were better left buried—

“She wanted more than I could give,” he said simply, eyes shadowed. My heart clenched. “And when she couldn’t have me…she moved on to other pursuits.”

My heart stopped, and I opened my mouth to ask—

I slowly shut it again, keeping the words in, not daring to voice them, as Lucien continued.

“But she’d understood me—at one point. Understood what drove me. What Prythian meant to me. And she turned her back on it anyway.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think past the cold, hard feeling burning in my chest. There were missing pieces in the story, things Lucien found too private, too painful, to tell me, but…

This was the female Tamlin had smiled at, welcomed into his home. The _friend_ ( _Maybe even a lover,_ a traitorous little voice whispered in my head) who he _trusted_ to hear the secrets of this court, the ones I wasn’t allowed to hear—

There was a groaning sound—

A _crack._

I looked down, heart hammering. My nails had dug into the wood, creating small crescents nearly a half inch deep. The ornamental golden border had snapped off, lying on the carpet in a glint of precious metal.

Lucien’s eyes were on it too.

I gulped down air like a drowning man, begging, _praying_ he wouldn’t mention it—

“I’ll see you in the morning,” was all he said, and I tried not to slump with relief.

I managed a jerky little nod, then he was out the door, almost too fast for me to follow.

And I wondered if maybe he had been just as eager to get out of this room, this conversation, as I was.

The candle flickered, and as I watched it burned out, leaving me in velvet-soft darkness.

* * *

“So, your family still lives over the wall, in the human realm, do they not?” Ianthe asked, her face tilting inquisitively as we walked through the gardens.

“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate more than that.

A pause.

Her brow crinkled a bit, but she laughed the awkward silence off and said, “Well, I’m sure they’re very proud of you.”

I nearly snorted. “Clearly, you don’t know my sisters very well then.”

They’d likely be glad if I was eaten by faeries or monsters, or killed by this strangling silence inside.

They’d barely even heard of the Great War, the shattered armies tearing each other to pieces across the sun-levelled plains of the Day Court.

Memories rose behind my eyes, drowning my senses—

Ianthe’s silver bracelets tinkled as she crossed her hands elegantly, and the sound brought me back to my body.

Her stunning golden face was politely inquisitive, but Lucien’s words from the night before still echoed in my head, still prevented me from trying to get to know her.

Even if Tamlin, resplendent and utterly casual at breakfast this morning, as if nothing had happened, had looked so pleased when Ianthe offered to walk around the grounds with me, and I’d warily accepted.

Now…I wasn’t sure if this was a very bad nightmare, or just a simple lack of interest in conversation.

But the priestess asking about my sisters…

I held back a frown as we passed a branch in the hedge, and, spotting the dark red of Tamlin’s mother’s roses ahead, and feeling nausea begin to rise in my stomach, quickly turned us down another path. “Why are you so curious about the human realm?”

Her face tightened. “Oh, just trying to find out more about your life,” was the swift, light reply.

I crossed my arms, not caring that it wasn’t ladylike in the least. “I think the only important parts of my life are the ones everyone already knows.” My tone was frosty.

A quick glance and a little hum. “Really.” Her tone said she disagreed with me.

Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I was just about to say to hell with rudeness and go back to the manor to languish in silence, when Ianthe paused and said casually, “I have something to show you.”

_You mean something I haven’t already seen in the year and a half I’ve been living here, as opposed to the fifty years you’ve spent away?_ I wanted to say. I didn’t.

The priestess led me down a little hedge-covered passageway and my spine locked up, my breathing quickening at the darkness, the lack of space, the memories—

We emerged into bright sunlight, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the little clearing near the edge of the gardens.

Once I’d taken in the white flowers growing in neat lines around the edges, the pretty little fountain in the middle, and moved on to the rest…

For a second I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, that the darkness and lack of sleep had muddled my brain as surely as it cast shadows under my eyes.

But they weren’t.

Because there was Tamlin, standing in the middle of the bedecked clearing, his face open and happy, so _sure,_ and Lucien and Alis and all the sentries and High Fae and servants gathered behind them…

“Feyre,” my love said, smiling, beckoning.

But my eyes went straight to the little box he was holding in his right now, the wood and velvet—red, I noted dimly—glinting in the spring afternoon, and I couldn’t make my legs move.

Ianthe slipped out from behind me, beaming, and took her place at Tamlin’s side.

Her place…

Because this was…this was…

My gaze shot to Lucien and Alis, and their faces alone were grim, still, unsure if this was right. Damning.

My breathing became faster, a writhing, slithering power awakening beneath my skin.

Distantly, as if I were underwater, I saw Tamlin go down on one knee, opening that little box, revealing the ring, a twin to the one I’d once worn, before I’d thrown it into a rushing river in Winter, all bright gold and glittering emerald…

His lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear.

My heart pounded slower, not faster, spreading, changing as that thing inside me reared its head—

But I heard the words at the end, the tone so bright and hopeful and certain.

“Feyre Archeron…will you marry me?”

The moment hung in odd suspension, Ianthe’s self-satisfied smile peeking out from behind Tamlin’s shoulder, Lucien’s eyes darting through the crowd, Alis’s silent, grim stare…

I began to shake my head.

Shake it, because that _thing_ was trying to get out and I could feel it climbing my insides, and this felt _wrong—_

Whispers swept through the crowd, and people shifted, Ianthe’s smile dimming just a bit.

Tamlin frowned, rising to his feet and taking a step forward.

That power paused, waiting…

“Feyre?” A question, and a prompt.

No.

No, no, no, _no._

I didn’t realize I was saying it until his face darkened, that ring glinting in the light.

I saw his muscles tense, that familiar lithe grace preparing to move, to take another step closer…

_No._

He took that step, the wasted marriage promise hanging in the air between us. That _ring—_

And I erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure some of you noticed a few distinct parallels to ACOMAF in this chapter, and that’s because a. I was just rereading ACOMAF and it was perfect to model after and b. I wanted it to run side-by-side with the whole Feyre/Tamlin/Ianthe/Lucien quad-thingy.  
> Hopefully update time will be shorter for the next chapter, but it would seem that _someone_ *cough*me*cough* wasted the entire summer on one stupid chapter (even if it was really long) and now has to start school again! Seriously, me? I really want to punch you right now, but then I’ll be unconscious and I’ll never get this uploaded so…  
>  It’s a vicious circle.  
> Until next time!  
> *virtual hugs to all the kind and _patient_ people reading this*  
>  Foxy


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this wasn't QUITE as long a wait as last time, so consider it an improvement?  
> Sorry. *wince and guilty emoji faces*  
> I'll try to do better next time.  
> This is a bit of a filler chapter, but it's all important stuff for later in the story, so bear with me here!  
> Please accept my apologies and enjoy.  
> xx  
> Foxy

_“No.”_

_The short, dark haired female paced, her face contorted in a scowl as harsh as her refusal, the light of the setting sun over the river casting a glare over her otherworldly silver eyes._

_There was a huff from behind her and the winged male crossed his arms, snarling, “Well, we have to do_ something _—”_

 _The female—_ distantly, terrifyingly familiar— _whirled. “We_ cannot _do anything, you idiot. This is a force than cannot be contained, and without him, without someone leading us, we have_ no chance _of defeating it. The best we can do is weather this storm, and pray to the gods-damned Cauldron that our cities survive. So why don’t you just_ shut the fuck up _and crawl back to that hellhole of a training camp you call home?”_

 _Footsteps, and a golden haired woman in red stepped forward._ I knew her—but I couldn’t remember her name.

_She sighed, massaging her temple. “Calm down, Amren. You know Cassian doesn’t mean anything that comes out of his fat mouth.”_

_He let out an indignant noise._

_The woman didn’t smile._

She was bothering me—they all were. A familiarity, a knowing…I knew these people’s names. One of them had…saved me?

Then another voice joined the fray, though I couldn’t see his body. It lurked on the edges of my vision, like a shadow-dampened mist.

_“I suggest we all calm down,” he said smoothly. Coldly. “The Court of Nightmares grows impatient—we’ve managed to keep his disappearance a secret for now, but they wonder where he is. Mor, you cannot appease them with delays and empty promises forever.”_

My very blood turned cold.

This male’s voice—like darkness given form, like the cold side of the moon, endlessly lonely and shattered.

From the depths of my soul, from the shadows curling around the edges of the comfortable loft apartment, a word rose.

_Shadowsinger._

_The woman—Mor_ (how did I _know_ her _?)—dropped into a chaise. “I know, Az. But even you can’t find any trace of him—what,” her voice trembled, “what do we do if he never comes back?”_

_The first male’s face hardened. “He will, Mor,” Cassian said. “I know it. He’s never failed us before. Us—or Velaris.” He sat down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into the touch._

I felt the Shadowsinger’s attention go right to that hand, felt his emotions spike—then deaden, like a breeze blowing away fog off the water.

_“He fought for us,” Mor whispered miserably. She raised her head, eyes red, but hard. “Now we have to fight for him.”_

_Even Amren was silent then._

I wanted to see more—no, _needed_ to see more. Needed to understand these people, why I felt so pulled to them—

A roar split my concentration, and the image melted away, leaving nothing but swirling, ravaging darkness in its wake.

I was frozen, a hurricane of power— _mine—_ whirling around me.

My heart was tearing, that question eating me alive, that garden courtyard and the disappointment waiting there unbearable—

I couldn’t bear it—

Something in me strained, pushing, pressing, tearing—

The blackness abruptly sucked back into me, leaving blankness and a slow, suspended moment…

Night exploded around me again, tearing me away from the gardens and the nothingness, pushing me through space and time—

I was in the daylight again, free, clear air surrounding me.

I gulped it down, my head swimming, and eyes burning from the sudden light, the disorientation—

And I fell.

A shriek ripped out of my throat as I plummeted through the sky, my dress flapping up around me, obscuring my vision, but I managed to catch sight of the solid patch of forest beneath me.

Far beneath me.

I didn’t even have time to curse before I was crashing through branches, leaves and sticks scratching at my arms, tearing skin and leaving smears of blood on the bark.

My shoulder wound tore open again, and I bit through my lip at the sudden influx of pain—

The forest floor rose up to meet me, a deadly canyon of sharp rocks and blurry greenery—

I jerked to a halt, mere feet from a terrible, painful death on the uptilted spire of rock.

I sucked in a great breath, the invisible net underneath me pressing into my stomach, a glass mirror I’d created in my desperation to save myself.

But who knew how long it would last, and what I’d _done—_

I scrambled off it, my limbs quivering with adrenaline and panic, stumbling back onto the hard forest floor, my bare feet slipping.

Bare, because my slippers had somehow disappeared in between here and there—

I vomited, hands pressing sharply into my stomach, as if I could force back the truth.

I’d _winnowed—_

I retched, panting on all fours, my fingers curling into claws of smoke and shadow, shredding through my gloves and sleeves, until only smooth, pale skin and the wrecked remnants of a stupid bargain made in desperation remained—

Again, and again I hurled up what little food I’d managed to consume in the last few days, until all that remained was spit, and there was some blood mixed in with it…

I collapsed to the ground, my hair a tangle around my shoulders.

Around me, ancient, slumbering forest greeted me, a never ending tangle of danger and mystery.

Where the rutting hell even was I?

My panting breaths were the only sound.

Tamlin—Tamlin had—

And I’d…

Blood stained the grass around me the color of rust, and the wound on my shoulder gaped wide.

I put trembling fingers to it, and hissed in pain.

The edges of the gash were swollen and purple.

I nearly vomited again at the sight.

I didn’t know much about Healing, but I was pretty sure a weeks old wound wasn’t supposed to look like this.

“Well, if _that_ wasn’t one of the most spectacular landings I’ve ever see, then I’m a mortal queen.”

I jerked in surprise, flickering embers of power rearing in my blood, attempting to whirl and see—

Pain and the aftermath of adrenaline made me unsteady though, and as my upper body twisted, my legs collapsed, and I hit the ground with a choked wheeze.

My vision spun, and the trees swayed in circles, interupted only by a blur of fiery orange.

A face peered down at me bemusedly—a girl with freckled cheeks, a mouth that seemed to be permanently smiling on one side, and masses of curly ginger hair.

“Oh, are you okay?” Hers was the voice I’d heard, rough and yet strangely melodic. But there was something off about it...

Her face turned alarmed. “Oh dear, you’ve very pale. You might want to sit down for a minute—”

Before I could point out that I was already lying down, and sitting would only be a step backwards, the world turned inside out and blackness claimed me.

* * *

For once no dreams came to claim me, and when I awoke I was in warm, dry sheets, my arm had been bandaged, and I was surrounded by voices.

I kept my eyes closed, listening as muffled voices slowly became clearer.

“—don’t know what you were thinking,” a male voice was saying, sounding worried.

A familiar voice—the red-haired girl from before—responded frostily.

“No, you don’t know what I’m thinking. Not in the slightest. What’s new there?”

A hiss of breath, then another voice broke in, also female, but more cultured, and slightly accented. “Oh, shut up, both of you. Arzah saw her Mist in, and she’s clearly one of _Them—_ why are we even helping her, giving her sanctuary?”

Arzah’s voice was strained as she snapped, “She won’t hurt us. Besides, you’re just jealous.”

The other girl’s voice rose. _“Jealous?_ Me? Are you out of your uneducated mind—?”

“Stop it, both of you!” the male snapped. He sounded exhausted and irate. “Tayir, don’t be rude.”

A satisfied “Hmph,” from Arzah.

But then he said, “And Arzah, stop antagonizing her. You’re being childish.” His tone turned serious. “And you know she’s right—Skrae isn’t going to like this. He’ll make you take the post again—”

“Let him,” Arzah said. I was almost impressed by the fire in her voice. “The post doesn’t scare me.”

A sigh. “It should,” the boy murmured.

There was a snort from Tayir, a muttered, “Idiot,” then the sound of stomping footsteps and a tent flap closing with a swoosh.

I kept my eyes closed as there was a rustling sound, and then Arzah muttered, “I hate her.”

The male didn’t reply for a second, but then just as a hiss of air escaped his lips in preparation for words, a blinding pulse of fire seared up my shoulder, and I couldn’t muffle a small groan.

Instantly, someone was at my side, and hands—male—were pressing against my pulse point.

“She’s waking up,” the boy murmured.

I heard rustling, and then the girl was there too.

Knowing it was useless to pretend any longer, I slowly, painfully forced my eyes open, blinking past the blurriness as faces swam into view.

The red haired girl from before was there—Arzah—and her face was worried and covered in more freckles than I remembered. Her companion, a dark skinned boy with close-shaven hair looked much more solemn.

I was proven right when her face instantly broke into a smile upon seeing me lucid and awake. “Wonderful. You actually are awake!”

I honestly thought she might start clapping her hands.

The boy, on the other hand, frowned at me. “What’s your name?”

Before I could think up an appropriate lie—saviors or not, I wasn’t going to go about trumpeting that I was the one who’d defeated Amarantha _and_ the King of Hybern—Arzah turned on him with a scowl. “Oh, let her breathe, Vahi,” she snapped. “She was just unconscious. You really need to work on your bedside manner.”

Vahi looked faintly bemused, but he didn’t stop the girl from leaning over and helping me sit up on what I now realized was a small cot in an equally cramped tent. With all three of us in there, it was downright claustrophobic.

When Arzah was satisfied that I was comfortable, she drew back. “What _is_ your name, by the way?” she said.

There was something subtly wrong here. A shift, a briskness that wasn’t present in the Spring Court, or any other of the Courts of Prythian. Where had I seen it before…?

I surreptitiously tried to look around as I stammered, “Uh—Nesta.” I blurted out the first name that came to mind, needing the ice cold clarity of my eldest sister. “My name is Nesta.”

Arzah’s face eased into a smile. “Well, Nesta, nice to meet you. My name is Arzah, and this grump over here,” she jerked her chin at the scowling boy, “is Vahi.”

I’d gathered as much.

“You must be hungry,” she went on, bouncing on her toes. She seemed to have limitless energy, like a crackling, raging fire. “I can get you some food if you want—”

“Arzah,” Vahi snapped suddenly, looking like he’d had just about all he could take. “Enough. We are not feeding her. We need to report her to Skrae immediately—Tayir probably already has. You’re going to get into so much trouble for this—” suddenly aware that I was listening to every word he shut his mouth, giving me a distrustful, wary glance.

Fine. I deserved that. I was an unknown stranger here.

But what the other girl, Tayir, had said earlier, about me being one of _Them…_ I could only assume she meant Faeries. But for her to say it like that…

But…we were in the Middle.

Arzah and Vahi began a harshly whispered argument a few feet away, and though I could have listened with my Fae ears if I wanted, I continued puzzling over those words.

Spoken as if Faerie kind were outsiders. As if I was a Faerie…and they weren’t.

My eyes darted to my newest companions, seeing Arzah gesture angrily, and as she did her hair shifted, revealing a pale, freckled neck and smooth, rounded ears…

Rounded, not pointed. Rounded because, because—

The conversation halted as I bolted upright, finding forgotten strength in shoving aside the blankets atop me and barreling for the tent flap.

Vahi caught up with me before I’d taken more than a step outside the tent. But my intent wasn’t to escape.

I was in a tent on the outskirts of a settlement full of people, a semi-permanent one, judging by the crude wooden houses erected towards the center of the encampment, where a large fire pit awaited.

People were around, going about their business, wearing sturdy, practical clothing, a mix of male and female, young and old, skin colors blurring into a dizzying mass.

People…but not people.

All bearing the same rounded ears as Arzah.

Humans.

They were all human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter…very quickly took a turn I didn’t expect.  
> I swear, when I started writing this chapter, I wasn’t planning on inventing an entire new cast of complicated characters, their own world, and several new things that are now intricately wound with the rest of the plot.  
> Uh…oops?  
> Well, Arzah and Vahi were too precious not to add in…and Tayir just sort of strutted onto the page (screen) nose in the air and was too terrifying to refuse.  
> But don’t worry, there’ll be more of the original cast very soon. And we might even get to see the Night Court.  
> And trust me—these new characters aren’t just random side characters that will disappear in two chapters. They have a definite purpose for the storyline and history of Prythian.  
> Till next time!  
> Foxy


End file.
